Fold
by worldaccordingtofangirls
Summary: Cardverse!AU. The Old Kingdom of Spades keeps peace among the suits with a weakening grip. The young queen cannot mend it alone. Reunion with the New Kingdom and king is as necessary as it is insane. However, one could argue that love itself is insanity.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur had always felt that he could survey the entire world from the balcony. When he was small and Yao would hoist him onto his shoulders to allow him to gaze out at the city, he would spread his arms as wide as possible as if trying to encompass the entire breadth of the universe, from the edges of his future kingdom to the ends of the Earth itself, in their tiny span. The entirety of London – an archaic name, but kept in memory of her former inhabitants - had been spread before him like a brittle grey blanket of ash and crumbling stone, and in the eyes of the infant queen there had existed no possession more valuable.

But age had brightened the world and brought the slow decline of the Old Kingdom of Spades into sharper contrast, and Arthur could no longer see the city as an antique that was priceless for its fragility, but rather only as something that could be too easily crushed. Their rule was still supreme, but their grip on the world was beginning to loosen against the increasingly persistent stirring of the other suits, and they felt more uncomfortably than ever the uncertain glances cast from the southern thrones of the Diamonds, the doubtful murmurs that drifted from the icy confines of the Clubs, the whispers of discontent that hung thick in the air above the decrepit stone palaces of the Hearts.

Some had even gone so far as to depart the continent itself, though of course they dared not brave the wastelands of ash and twisted metal that stretched for thousands of miles beyond the furthermost borders of the Kingdom of Clubs. Their destination lay instead across the ocean, where there existed a younger continent whose land had yet to be wrinkled and pockmarked and slowly decayed by the long years of history, touched instead by hope and idealism and empty, dreamlike promises.

But the Old Kingdom preferred not to dwell on such thoughts, and Arthur likewise. He leaned out into the breeze to clear his head, supporting himself on the slender iron rail of the balcony.

After a long moment, he opened his eyes and met the bitter wind, gazing down at the expanse of buildings and gardens before him with a slight frown. The day was cloudy and the city seemed exhausted, draped as it was in its familiar fragile grey shroud of feeble sunlight and ash. The gardens looked garishly green against the somber background and Arthur wrinkled his nose, eyes watering in the breeze. A bell clanged faintly in the distance. He heard a man shout. A dog barked from somewhere very far away. The cold cut through his clothes, but he paid this no heed.

He could feel his kingdom breathe beneath him with weary lungs, and thought himself far too young for work such as this. He still breathed so freely, after all, and what could a man of nineteen possibly understand of ruling something so ancient, and in such troubled times, with whispers of war skulking around the borders like unwanted shadows? He closed his eyes again, trying to distract himself.

Arthur nearly toppled from the balcony when he felt a tap on his shoulder; gasping in surprise, he turned to face an amused Yao, who calmly steadied him with the hand that was not holding up a foreboding blue cloak. Arthur sighed, wordlessly accepting the coat and throwing it over his shoulders, pausing to fasten the golden pin at his throat, the sharp edges of the metal spade pressing into the tender skin at the dip of his collarbone.

"How soon will they be here?" he asked as Yao moved aside to allow him to step back into his quarters, shutting the gauzy blue drapes behind them to block out the thin shafts of sunlight that had been chasing each other across the stone floor.

"In little more than moments, your majesty," answered the Jack of Spades serenely as Arthur made his way across the room, unthinkingly dropping his worn trousers to his ankles as he went. Yao had cared for him since the moment he had been weaned from his mother's milk, and there was no longer any call for shame between them. "But you would do well to be fashionably late."

Arthur paused at the door to his closet, one hand paused halfway through a feeble attempt at fixing his wind-tossed bangs.

"Would I?"

Yao nodded and reached out a slender hand to comb through Arthur's hair.

"Let me fetch your trousers," he said quietly, and pushed past him into the closet, emerging moments later with a pair of freshly pressed formal suit pants, spun deep navy to match the coat. Arthur sighed but hoisted them to his waist, dropping his arms and watching the cloak billow out around his slender frame as if he had sprouted wings of expensive blue silk.

Yao steered him towards the mirror, twirling him in front of the spotted glass so that the cloak flared out further still and he again assumed the appearance of a curiously gangly blue-feathered bird.

"You look the ruler you are," he said finally, pressing his lips briefly to Arthur's forehead. "Here are your boots. Now go."

Arthur flitted through the winding halls of Buckingham Palace – another archaic name, again preserved out of respect for its former inhabitants - with the agility that could only belong to someone who had played on the same staircases and tripped over the same cracks in the flooring since childhood. The slender overhanging lamps lit his way with generous pools of yellow light, and it was not long before he was hurrying into the grand lobby, boots ringing out against the shining marble floors and breath tearing almost merrily from his lungs. At the far side of the gallery he abruptly turned a corner and began to dash towards the meeting hall, smiling to feel his muscles shriek in protest. The other suits would already be awaiting his arrival.

He stuttered to an abrupt halt some feet away from his destination to smooth his hair and check his cloak, adjusting the golden pin once more so that the edges pressed less sharply against his throat. He detected the bubbling of voices not far off down the hall, tasted a trace of rose perfume in the air, and knew that the Kingdom of Diamonds and the Kingdom of Clubs had already arrived. Satisfied that his clothing was back in order, he continued to the grand double doors of the conference chamber, nodding at the guards and making one last adjustment to the pin at his throat before he turned the knob and stepped inside.

King Francis of Diamonds rose from his seat immediately and hurried to Arthur's side to take his hand, flashing a smirk up at him as he brought his fingers to his lips. Arthur hissed and shook him away, wiping his palm on the leg of his trousers before smiling genially at Queen Lili, who dipped her chin in shy acknowledgement. King Ivan of Clubs accepted his handshake with an enigmatic smile and a musical chirp of greeting, though his queen returned the embrace offered with what seemed to be genuine warmth. The royal family of the Kingdom of Hearts had yet to arrive, but Arthur nonetheless courteously thanked each of his guests for their valuable presence and took his seat at the base of the table, trying to ignore the empty chair at the head just as his predecessors had done for nearly two centuries beforehand.

As was customary, the jacks filed into the chamber before the debates were permitted to begin, with Yao leading the procession and diligently directing each of his companions to the appropriate corner of the room. The chamber itself was long and rectangular, windowless though breached on one side by the grand double doors, and the centerpiece was the heavy round table, around which were centered eight chairs. The Queen and King of Spades were traditionally arranged at the head and the base, respectively. The King and Queen of Diamonds were always seated to the left of the Queen of Spades, while the King of Hearts was placed on the right-hand side, far from his queen, who together with the King and Queen of Clubs flanked the King of Spades. Each jack took to the corner of the room closest to the right hand of their queen, and thusly countless conferences had been held and countless decisions made.

Jack Vash of Diamonds stood rigid in his place, keeping his green gaze trained on the delicate queen, who seemed to flicker beneath his stony attention. Roderich of Clubs made his stately way to his designated corner, the dignified manner with which his feet fell striking an almost comical juxtaposition with the poverty from which his kingdom suffered. The Jack of Hearts was still nowhere to be seen, but he was a harmless creature and everyone knew that upon arrival he would do little but flutter feebly at them from his place. Finally, when Yao passed like a shadow behind Arthur's chair, one glimpse of his serene black gaze was enough to soothe his heart and bring him gracefully to his feet.

"My fellows," he began, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Let us begin by -"

The double doors interrupted with a groan and the Jack of Hearts stumbled through with a burble of laughter, shrugging away the exasperation of his companions as they followed him into the chamber. Queen Kiku bowed his head respectfully, hands tucked into the nap of his rich scarlet kimono, but King Ludwig was not so subdued and merely grunted his greeting, fiddling unhappily with the starched edges of his collar as he herded Jack Feliciano away from the table and to his proper place.

"Welcome," Arthur kept murmuring, though he could taste the discontent in the air. "Thank you so very much for coming. The Kingdom of Spades understands that such trips are not easy to make nowadays, and we are infinitely grateful for your presence."

King Francis coughed and Arthur understood his meaning very well; he turned and cast him an unimpressed glance, though he allowed a smirk to toy with one corner of his mouth. Queen Kiku had settled into his seat, folding his skinny white fingers together on the tabletop, but King Ludwig was still wrestling with Feliciano in the corner, struggling to quiet him. Arthur cleared his throat and the room fell silent except for the muffled whimpering of the Jack of Hearts, and Ludwig gave up and shuffled to his place, sitting completely rigid with his gaze focused on his lap.

Arthur cleared his throat once more, straightened the pin of his cloak against his collarbone, and smiled.

"As I was saying," he began, doing his best not to lock eyes with anyone. "Let us begin with the individual reports, as per usual."

The others nodded, and there was a great communal rustling as scrolls and stacks of documents were withdrawn from beneath seats and spread onto the table. Arthur waited quietly for a moment before asking if anyone would prefer to begin. The room was quiet, and he cleared his throat before he unfurled his own report and graciously volunteered.

The Old Kingdom of Spades could not exactly boast a booming economy at the moment, but at least her production had not slowed to a near standstill. After all, with a reign that reached as far as hers, to generate no wealth entirely was a near impossibility. Admittedly, unemployment was soaring and discontent was beginning to fester amongst her citizens, but there were still more than enough food and resources to go around; it was simply that some luxuries that were previously enjoyed were no longer available. The entire world was being slowly crippled by the recent dip in the economy, but in the entire scheme of things, Spades still reigned supreme, exactly as she always had.

The recent death of the latest queen – Arthur's aunt, a generally dislikable woman but a satisfactory ruler – had yet to take effect over the people. Arthur was very aware that many speculated as to how well a man of his years could possibly govern such a vast and important kingdom, and he tiptoed over his words as he gave his report, very carefully avoiding the gazes of the other kings and queens not for fear that he would see disdain in their eyes but for fear that his own doubts would overcome him.

He was also aware that many saw him as a point of weakness, as a soft spot in the armor that had protected the supreme reign of his kingdom for centuries. For some, this fact was a serious danger. For others, it was an opportunity. Arthur did not miss the whispers that thickened the air between the members of the Kingdom of Hearts, who were of the opinion that Spades had governed their affairs far too long. He did not miss the flicker in King Ludwig's slate blue eyes, the frozen cordiality of his queen, the bumbling avoidance of the Jack, as if the hapless boy had been warned against engaging himself with the promisingly young and inexperienced Queen of Spades. No, Arthur did not miss the concerned slant of Francis' brow, the soft touch of Lili's hand at his elbow, the worried brush of Elizaveta's lips against his cheek, Ivan's enigmatic smile, perhaps a warning, perhaps a promise of allegiance, perhaps nothing at all. He was all too aware, and he was all too doubtful.

War would be calamity.

But he felt Yao's serene stare on the back of his neck and understood full well that he could not let his doubts show in his voice, in his manner of carrying himself, that he could not allow his fingers to tremble or his tongue stumble over his words. So he lifted his chin to the ceiling and continued to speak, still taking care to avoid the gazes of the others.

Eventually he arrived at the end of his report – in summary, things were not necessarily good anywhere on the continent, but they could be worse for the Old Kingdom of Spades – straightened his papers, and sat down with an inaudible sigh, tucking the ends of his cloak beneath himself and nodding towards Francis, who stood slowly, running one hand through his hair.

At thirty, the King of Diamonds was not terribly much older than Arthur, but commanded considerably more respect despite the inferior power of his kingdom, though perhaps there was a reasonable measure of resentment intermingled with the subdued stares he received from the Kings Ludwig and Ivan as he began detailing the economic situation of the Diamonds, which was, although dismal, still considerably better than that of the Hearts or the Clubs.

Socially, the kingdom was perfectly content. The unrest that had characterized the past century had largely disappeared, and despite the lack of certain luxuries, the people managed to be as vibrantly self-absorbed as ever. There was hope, explained Francis, clutching his papers to his chest with a breathy sigh, for the future, and where there was hope there was a happy populace. Arthur thought he heard Ludwig snort at this, but perhaps he imagined it.

Francis billowed back into his seat with a nod to Ivan, who gradually lumbered into an upright position and flashed the table that enigmatic smile which somehow stirred a fearful sort of curiosity in the heart. He slipped one glove from his hand to gain a better grip on his stack of documents and began to dance around his words in the traditional character of his kingdom, so that the actual meaning of his report was a challenge to ascertain. He really said nothing in particular, only dropped hints and disguised statistics and talked on about the grand plans for the future in his curiously musical voice. An economic revolution, he repeated, a magnificent economic revolution, though it seemed strange that he willingly announced such a plan when he would not even admit that his kingdom was struggling in the first place. Arthur paid polite attention, knowing that Yao was listening closely as always and would help him dissect the speech for actual meaning once the meeting had been dismissed.

Ivan sat down with a soft thank you and Ludwig shifted forwards in his chair, seeming to reluctantly realize that his turn had arrived. After a long gap of silence, he stood with a quiet grunt, and accepted the handful of neatly rolled scrolls offered by his silent queen. He straightened his burgundy tie, fiddled with his collar for another moment, cleared his throat, and began with a stiff hello.

The Kingdom of Hearts had been the runt of the continent ever since the dissolution of the archaic democracies and the rise of the Suits. Though the Clubs governed the most desolate land, home to nothing but snow and ice and the occasional accidental sculpture of ancient twisted metal, scarred by war and chemical waste, the Hearts had never seemed to catch up with the economic or military prowess of the other kingdoms. They were always lagging, always making mistakes, never coming into their own, and resentment festered amongst their people like a plague. To make matters worse, this resentment was not only directed at their own feeble government, but at that of the overreaching Old Kingdom of Spades, and such sentiments were beginning to show.

"Inflation has reached a peak," began Ludwig, lowering his eyes in something akin to shame. "Unemployment is rising, production is shrinking. The statistics reflect this, so I will not delve into them at this point in time." He paused, glanced down at his queen for a moment, and swallowed visibly.

"Queen Kirkland," he said quietly, "we would like to make you a request."

Arthur looked up sharply. He knew that Yao would be staring at him, gauging his every move.

"And what might that be?" he asked pleasantly, resting his chin on the ball of his palm. Ludwig set his papers down on the table and met his gaze.

"Your kingdom is the most prosperous," he said evenly. "We would like to request a stimulus."

Arthur was quiet for a long moment, processing his words, their eyes still locked.

"With all due respect," he said finally, without blinking, "everyone is struggling in these times, and -"

"But you are the least affected," interrupted Ludwig, and a murmur rippled through the table at his rudeness. "All we ask is a little generosity, a little common spirit."

Arthur swallowed, struggling to maintain an even tone past the unease rising in his throat.

"I'm afraid…" he said slowly. "I'm afraid that the kingdoms have always kept to their own affairs -"

"Really?" said Ludwig, and there was a new, sharp note to his voice. "How funny that you would say such a thing whilst you impose your laws and tariffs upon us all."

A pregnant silence fell over the table. Panic bloomed in Arthur's chest and he cleared his throat once into his fist, suddenly feeling the edges of the spade pin pressing claustrophobically against the dip of his collarbone.

"I'm sorry," he began, and was gratified to hear that his voice remained strong. "But the Kingdom of Spades has always been in the position to -"

"The _Old _Kingdom," hissed Kiku, and surprise swelled through the table to hear the stony queen raise his voice. "The Old Kingdom of Spades, that is."

For all his controlled façade, Arthur was unable to stop himself from flinching, as if a weapon had been flashed across the tabletop. Francis frowned, casting him a sympathetic glance before he leaned forwards in his chair with a scarcely detectable groan.

"That has nothing to do with matter at hand," he said softly. "There was no call to bring up such an old wound, your highness, especially not one that holds such little relevance to our situation. Such poor taste is truly atypical of you." He sighed, ignoring the anger that flared briefly across Kiku's face, before he glanced up at Arthur with the slightest of smiles, gesturing through the air with one hand. "Please, your majesty, if you would be so kind as to continue."

Relieved, Arthur gave Francis a grateful dip of the chin before he opened his mouth to speak. However, not a word had emerged before Ludwig brought his fist down sharply on the table and returned the room to frigid silence.

"Why should we heed the mandates of a queen," he said slowly, controlling every syllable, "who hasn't even the strength to defend his own kingdom?"

From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Yao start forwards, a rare sparkle of anger coming into his dark eyes. He shook his head almost imperceptibly – to allow Yao to defend him would only prove the attack to be true – and the Jack stepped back into his place, quirking an eyebrow as if in warning.

Arthur inhaled deeply, as if trying to suck the terrible silence away into his lungs.

"King Ludwig," he began quietly, focusing on preserving the calm in his voice. "First and foremost, we understand the hardships which your kingdom faces, and are no strangers to such troubles ourselves. The Old Kingdom of Spades knows poverty, hunger, the cost of war, as well as any other. Rest assured that the economic situation has left no kingdom unscathed."

He paused for a long moment, and met with tense silence unbroken even by the whimpering of the Jack of Hearts, proceeded.

"In regards to the influence of the Old Kingdom of Spades over the political and government practices of the other Suits…" He turned his gaze to the entire table, wanting them to see the serenity, the absolute faith in his own prowess (forged, of course, but present nevertheless) in his eyes. "We are simply carrying out the same procedures that have been standard protocol since the beginning. I neither decided which nations survived the war and became suits, nor which have risen to power since. It is by no action of mine that Spades developed this reputation. It is merely my duty to uphold it."

He paused again, meeting Ludwig's gaze as if daring him to protest, though in his heart he felt none of the same bravery and confidence that he had forced into his eyes.

"And uphold it I will," he said, "regardless of age, of stature, regardless of opinion, of whatever protestations may be raised. It is my duty and I will do it until I am capable no longer."

He took a deep breath, his exhale echoing in the stunned silence, and reached up to adjust the pin at his throat, satisfied that it finally fell into a comfortable place, where the edges did not pinch his skin.

"Now," he said briskly, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Does anyone else have any matters which they would like to bring to light?"

When nobody moved, when nobody even went so far as to draw their gaze from their lap, Arthur allowed himself a minute smile and dipped his chin to Yao, who unfolded from his corner with an unreadable expression and began to give the closing address, as tradition entailed. When he had finished, the room swelled suddenly with the grating of chairs against stone floors and the rustling of shifting clothing as the delegates rose and filtered past Arthur one by one, dropping farewells at his feet.

Francis gripped his shoulder with what was perhaps pride, Lili allowed him to kiss her hand with a soft giggle, and Vash glared, though this hardly worried Arthur because the Jack of Diamonds glared at everyone, especially those who dared to flatter the young queen. Elizaveta kissed him briefly on the cheek as always, Ivan returned the handshake offered with that same perplexing smile curving his mouth, and Roderich nodded stiffly, as if the high bend of his starched collar inhibited the faculty of his neck. Feliciano wrung his hand sore, burbling enthusiastically on about what a spectacular meeting it had been and thereby proving his happy ignorance, Kiku managed to nod perhaps even more stiffly than Roderich despite the loose neck of his scarlet kimono, and Ludwig brushed past into the hall without so much as a glance, crimson coattails flapping sharply behind.

Arthur shut the door behind his guests and turned to Yao with a tentative smile. He was surprised to find his governor bent collapsed in the nearest chair, one hand massaging his creased temple while the other lay curled into a fist on the tabletop.

"What's the matter?" Arthur asked sharply, taking the adjacent chair without bothering to tuck down his cloak, the tails flapping out behind him with a crackle, again lending him the odd appearance of an ill-proportioned blue bird. "Is there…is there something you know, something you heard?"

Yao glanced up at him and Arthur was dismayed to recognize the expression in his eyes: the same exhaustion which had characterized his childhood, present whenever he would make mistakes or break things or fail a mathematics lesson. He swallowed.

"Have I done something…wrong?"

Yao dropped his other hand to the table, palm down, making a faint slapping sound against the wood. His brows formed sharp creases across his forehead, and Arthur winced, unease rising in his throat at the sight of the incredulity in the eyes of the jack.

"I don't understand," he said, panic beginning to blossom in his stomach while Yao remained silent, as he did only when he was rendered quite literally without anything to say. "I did well, I defended the kingdom, I upheld my dignity!" He was embarrassed to hear his voice break over the final syllable. "What did I do wrong?"

Yao sighed like a gust of wind.

"You are so very young," he said finally, and Arthur flinched.

"I don't understand, Yao…what are you trying to say?"

Yao leapt abruptly from his seat, eyes blazing to life as they only did when he was suddenly seized by duty, by the urge to protect, by necessity, and began to pace the room, stroking his chin and every so often whipping his head from side to side as if to dispel a black thought from his mind into the air, which already tasted sour from unease and discontent. Arthur stood slowly, but could only watch him with his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, confused and wounded and feeling very obsolete for being the absolute ruler of the most powerful kingdom on the continent.

"Yao, please," he ventured after a long while, stomach twisting at the pathetic plea in his own voice. "You have to explain to me what I've done."

Yao shot him one razor glance. "We will have to call them."

Arthur took a step forwards, drawing his cloak around himself as if to ward off his confusion and the black glare of the usually subdued jack.

"Call…whom?"

And Yao, circling around to the empty chair at the head of the table, collapsed back into it, though he did not press his face into his hands like before.

It took Arthur a moment to realize that the action itself was his answer.

"No," he cried, running to Yao and throwing himself into the adjacent chair, reaching out to grab his sleeve. "No, Yao, please no!" His voice tore violently. "Imagine the disgrace!"

Yao shook him away with a hiss. "Necessity knows no disgrace."

"But I don't…I don't…" Panic was clawing at his voice, leaving it riddled with holes. "I don't want to, Yao, I don't want that, I don't want…_him_," he gasped, reaching out to latch onto Yao's sleeve once more. "Please, please no. No, no. Dignity, Yao, my dignity!"

"You are too proud," snapped his governor, batting his hand away. "Necessity knows no dignity."

"It would seem," shouted Arthur before he could catch himself, "that _necessity_ doesn't know very much at all!"

But of course he instantly regretted his words; Yao's eyes widened and he seemed to grow very calm, stonily allowing Arthur to paw at his sleeve to his heart's content.

"I'm sorry, Yao," said Arthur almost immediately, subdued, though his voice still hitched. "I'm sorry, that was unnecessary." He cracked no smile at the irony. "Please forgive me."

Yao cast him an unreadable look. "We will have to call them."

"I don't understand," whispered Arthur for what seemed to be the umpteenth time, letting his fingers slide from the jack's sleeve to rest defeated on the tabletop. "Not for two centuries have we…" He trailed off. "So why now?"

"Why? You don't see? It was your little comment back there…" said Yao, his voice again growing exhausted. "You will rule supreme until you are no longer capable, eh?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Might as well invite the Hearts to declare war."

Arthur swallowed. "But I never…I said I would uphold the Spades _reputation _until…"

Yao gave that same unpleasant laugh again, tipping his head back for a moment before snapping upright with a frightening little giggle.

"Do you not see, Arthur?" he asked, a curious smile curving his mouth but not quite reaching the corners of his eyes. "The two are synonyms. Our reputation_ is_ of supreme rule…" He chuckled again, shrilly. "And now, in order to uphold it just as you have so generously promised to do…we will have to call them."

Arthur bit down on his lower lip. "And should they refuse..?"

Yao stood, straightening his cloak. "You and I both know that they will do no such thing. We are all eager to see returned the glory that once was the Kingdom of Spades." His voice took on a wistful edge and Arthur knew that all hope of dissuasion was lost. "Whole, unscathed by the past, her arms encompassing island and ocean and true firm land…" He sighed. "It has simply been that we are both too proud to say so. Pride is the unfortunate shared nature of our people, I suppose. However…" He turned to Arthur with something of a smile, perhaps a tacit offer of reconciliation. "You, your majesty highness gloriously bumbling infant Queen of Spades, have turned all question of shame obsolete. We cannot prevent a war without a king, and history must not repeat itself. And so…" He sighed, turning towards the door and gesturing for Arthur to follow. "We will have to call them."

"You mean to say that there is no other option," mumbled Arthur as he obediently followed the jack out into the hallway, huffing to match his brisk pace, the tails of his cloak crackling out behind him. "You mean to say that I will have to…with _him_, of all people…all for the sake of…because of…"

"King Alfred is not as intolerable as you seem to consider him, your majesty," said Yao mildly, casting an amused glance over his shoulder. "And considering that it was indeed your foolhardiness which has brought this about, I would think it a rather fitting punishment.

"He is a pretty toy of the people," sneered Arthur as they crossed the lobby. "And rumor has it that this economic mess all began with his ineptitude. I say, how can such a man possibly be capable of ruling a kingdom as _previously _prosperous as that of New Spades?" He snorted. "It's preposterous!"

Yao raised an eyebrow and Arthur swallowed, realizing his hypocrisy.

"I don't want this," he spat, as if such a statement were somehow validating. Yao merely shrugged and ushered him up the stairs at a faster pace.

"We all must do things which we would prefer not to," he said, his characteristic sense of serenity having returned with irritating speed. Arthur frowned and Yao cracked a small smile, reaching out to ruffle his bangs.

"With that attitude," he added, an almost affectionate note pervading his tone, "King Alfred will be about as willing to wed into this disaster as you are to accept him."

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong> – Guys, I should _not_ be doing this. I have another AU to be working on and I have no idea of how long this story is going to be or of how the plot is going to fold out exactly, and yet…here I am, for the love of Cardverse and USUK and the fact that this story has gripped me by the shoulders and shaken me up and down and still won't let me go.

**What I do know is **that this fic will run for_ far_ more than a measly fifteen chapters and has been rated M for reasons which may not show themselves for some time. More things I know are that updates will be produced as quickly as possible, but no longer by a specified schedule. More information about this can (probably) be found on the fanfic tag on my writing blog, the link to which is on my profile.

**Side pairings** include but are not limited to RusPrus, GerIta, and possible AusHun.

The setting is post-modern, moderately dystopian – an unusual interpretation of this universe, I know. I actually have an atypically vivid idea of this world, however, so more will be fleshed out in later chapters. Catch the parallels to actual historical events and you win all my love.

**Thank you so much for reading!** Hopefully I will have an update ready next week.

Over and out.


	2. Chapter 2

The lesson began with the pledge, as had been customary ever since the foundation of the New Kingdom. Once the children had all scrambled back into their desks, the teacher began the lecture, straightening her skirts and taking a nub of chalk to the board to sketch out the subject of the day. History, she told the children, was the absolutely most important fundamental of proper citizenship; it was crucial in order to develop an understanding of the world in which they lived. Without it, she said solemnly, each and every person would be lost in the confusion of time. The children hushed at this, their faces growing almost comically serious, and seemed to lean forwards in their desks as she told them about how it was their individual duty to learn the story of their existence well.

"History," she said softly, "must never be allowed to repeat itself."

The students were in fact so focused on their newfound responsibility that nobody batted so much as an eye at the young man who slouched in the back of the classroom, watching them from beneath the nap of a soft satin hood. The teacher herself had noticed his presence, but visitors were not atypical and she had assumed from the emblem embroidered on the breast of his cloak that he was some misleadingly young official. She perhaps thought it strange that he didn't wear a double-breasted suit as was required of the majority of the government officers, but he was quiet and rather handsome and seemed altogether perfectly harmless, so she did not press him for identification.

The lecture began centuries ago, when the world was still ravaged by the wars, rendered a wasteland of ash and chemical residue, of the twisted metal skeletons of tanks and airplanes, when the fragments of the archaic nations still struggled miserably to reconstruct the fractured and corrupt democracies that were once called great. She took a time to toss about some number of names that each rung foreign in the children's ears: France, Russia, Germany, Japan, China, the United Kingdom, United States, United Nations, really just a great deal of _united _things, most of which would be unrecognizable to even the average citizen. Next came Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Austria, Italy, Hungary, and the children were beginning to grow quite confused, trying to sound out the names only to stumble over their own tongues.

The teacher laughed gently and hushed the class, promising an explanation once they had quieted. Those names belonged to the nations, she said softly, that had survived the holocaust of warfare. Whether by power or cunning or simply roots that had sunk too deeply into the soil of the continent to ever be removed, those countries had evaded obliteration, and when their efforts at resuscitating democracy failed, when in the hopeless wasteland they had created for themselves another option became necessary, political and economic ties had brought them together into the Suits.

During the negotiations, a very fortuitous marriage, the teacher told her breathless audience, in fact the most fortuitous of them all, was forged. It stretched across an ocean, touched island and coast and forest and plains, encompassed two deep histories that burned like slow flames and one glorious child that had flared brilliant like a striking match, brought together two shared cultures and one economic powerhouse, and immediately tipped the scales of the balance of power far out of proportion.

It was the Kingdom of Spades, she said quietly, almost wistfully, at that point whole and rising overwhelmingly powerful from the ashes of history.

Next came the endless negotiations over territory and resources. The continent and some portions of the New World were the only areas left remotely habitable, the only places where grass could still grow green and the sky still winked fragments of blue from behind the clouds of ash. With the sketches of the new world order in hand, the Suits divided the land amongst themselves beneath the guidance of the Kingdom of Spades. Although they made their best efforts to assign territory according to the archaic boundaries of the fallen nations, the strange new unions within the kingdoms proved difficult to assign and in the end a mathematical account of arable land was taken and broken into four even slices. Though the Clubs ruled an enormous area, they were in possession of no more farmland than any other Suit, and Spades likewise, despite reaching across an entire ocean. The new arrangement was thought to be imperfect but satisfactory.

And so, the Suits began to rebuild their shattered identities. Fragments of culture were hastily gathered from the wasteland – ravaged paintings, crumbling ruins, the odd crown jewel winking in the wan sunlight from its bed of ash, emerald or ruby or sapphire or topaz – and clumsily assembled back into some semblance of a national identity, a nebulous idea to clutch warm to the breast when the winters were harsh and the fields yielded sickly grain that was scarcely edible. The first few decades passed thusly, in struggle and repair, working only to fill mouths and reconstruct destruction. It was a battle that had not been fought for millennia beforehand.

With time, however, a strange sort of peace settled over the Suits. The people worked for their survival as they had not done for thousands of years. They grew strong and lean, with hot powerful blood rushing through their veins. Gradually, production increased and trade began, and though it was nothing more than a trickle at the beginning, soon the people of the Kingdom of Spades warmed themselves with furs and liqueurs from the Clubs, wore the grand gowns and jewels sent with perfumed letters from the Diamonds, wove fine structures of stone and metal and realized fantastic feats of engineering with supplies and plans issued from the Hearts. Grain flowed sweet and golden from the New World, literature and culture flowered anew in the heart of London, and the grip of the Kingdom of Spades on the rest of the world did not falter.

But prosperity, the teacher murmured forebodingly, would eventually bring more than wealth to the Kingdom of Spades. As the part of the kingdom which oversaw production within the New World throve, the population skyrocketing, the economy booming, and the culture beginning to flourish into something new and old at the same moment, the people likewise began to grow restless. Regardless of history, the ocean seemed to grow wider and wider with each passing day, with each new baby, with each rise in the stock bonds, with each new masterpiece penned or sketched by a young genius who had never once in all his life laid eyes on what were long ago known as the British Isles.

The split did not come as a surprise. It was not violent, only sad. Many viewed it as a failing on the part of the Kingdom, proof of a weakness which would eventually ferment to become fatal. Whether the King and Queen at the time had loved each other or not was unknown, but the schoolyard stories told that the Queen, isolated in her ancient kingdom, left alone in her archaic stone palace with the walls still scorched from the holocaust centuries ago, cried herself to sleep that night and woke the next morning completely blind. Of course, only the first half of that tale could be true, for the lady ruled with perfect eyesight for decades afterwards, but the rumor had first surfaced because at the time the entire kingdom had wept for the loss of what had seemed the perfect union.

What the teacher did not say was that the New Kingdom had regretted their decision the moment they had signed the document that would separate themselves from their western counterpart. She did not say that pride had long since been the only factor keeping the two kingdoms apart, though the New Kingdom flourished and the Old Kingdom remained supreme. She did not say that the Jack of Spades spent half the year in the New World and half on the continent. Instead, she ended the lecture by repeating the mantra that history must not be allowed to repeat itself.

Silence fell and a young girl in braids raised her hand. After a moment she was called upon and asked if the Old and the New Kingdom wouldn't ever come together again. The teacher smiled kindly – she was accustomed to the question, one child always dared to ask it – and began to shake her head.

The boy slouching in the back chuckled – he hadn't mean to, the sound just slipped out of him – and her head snapped up. Realizing his mistake, the boy stood up from the wall and slipped back his hood, adjusting his spectacles across the bridge of his nose and flashing the classroom what he hoped would seem a charming grin.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," he said brightly, bobbing his head. "But that's not quite the case, not anymore."

The teacher blinked and bit down on her lower lip, eyes flitting from the elaborate emblem embroidered on his cloak to the cluster of startled children at her feet. To her credit, she eventually forewent asking for his identity in favor of demanding that he elaborate.

"Well…" drawled the boy, digging in the pocket of his cloak. "You should really go look in the papers, but I'll tell you that Old Spades finally pulled that big old stick out of their…" His gaze fell on the group of children, all gazing up at him with wide eyes, and cleared his throat. "They finally came around, so to speak."

The teacher blinked again, rather owlishly. "I don't understand."

"Shucks, ma'am, I really wish I had the time to elaborate…" He extracted an oversized golden pocket watch from his cloak and quite nonchalantly checked the time, chuckling when a collective gasp swelled through the room; one or two children even cried out in disbelief. "But I'm running late, you see, and I really should be going."

He turned towards the door, swallowing his laughter when the entire group of children seemed to scrabble after him in one great wave, eyes fixated on the gleaming watch clutched in his right hand, following the mesmerizing lilt of the heavy gold chain. The teacher called for him to wait just as he was stepping over the threshold, and he looked back over his shoulder to find her paused at the center of the room, one hand resting at her temple and her mouth slightly open. After a brief interval of silence, he smiled expectantly.

"That watch…" sighed the teacher after a moment; she managed a small curtsey. "Your Majesty…why are you here?"

The boy grinned.

"Please don't worry, ma'am, it's just a routine check-up. I like to make sure everything's going smoothly myself, you see." He winked. "Just can't quite trust the reports of all those stodgy officials who have never been out of their libraries, eh?"

The teacher seemed to deflate.

"No," she said rather faintly, "I suppose not." A pause, during which she seemed to make a genuine effort at composing herself, and then: "If you would be so kind…what you said…" She bit down harder on her lower lip. "Things are about to change, aren't they…and you're going to change them, aren't you."

He nodded even though the words weren't a question, and the teacher smiled, clasping her hands together at her breast.

"Good day, Your Majesty, and good luck," she said softly. "And…thank you."

The boy grinned, stowed the pocket watch, slipped on his hood, and stepped from the room, leaving the teacher to fend off the subsequent explosion of questions as to where King Alfred Jones was going, what he was going to change, and why a man like himself would ever need any good luck at all.

* * *

><p>Arthur was only halfway through his review of the latest exam results – the education officials were constantly taking figures and sketching graphs of the children, categorizing their intelligence and sketching their ability and formulating equations every time they so much as blinked an eye – when he heard Yao slip into the office and approach his chair, silent except for the murmur of his cloak.<p>

"What is it?" asked Arthur without looking from the stack of documents. He felt Yao put a hand on the back of his chair.

"He's coming tonight," he said quietly, and Arthur turned sharply around, the papers fluttering from his hands to rest on the surface of his desk.

"Surely you don't mean…"

Yao nodded, dark eyes solemn, and Arthur swallowed.

"Such short notice," he said quietly. "Is it that someone neglected to inform me of this earlier?"

Yao shook his head, and there might have been a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "We only just found out ourselves, sir."

Arthur frowned, considering how to react, and decided to affect indifference, turning back to the documents spread haphazardly across his desk and grumbling at the mess as he pushed them back into order.

"Arithmetic scores have dropped in the eastern districts," he said conversationally, as if nothing had changed. "Perhaps a reform to the curriculum is in order."

Yao sighed softly and sat down at one of the plump blue velvet chairs across from the desk, folding one leg over the other and weaving his fingers together to rest his chin. Arthur glanced up at him and he shook his head.

"The curriculum is fine as it is, your majesty," he said. "I would say that better instructional programs would be more favorable. However, this is merely my opinion. I am sure that you know better than I."

Arthur disregarded the note of sarcasm and nodded once, twice, as if it honestly mattered. He set to scribbling notes across the documents with an affected fervor, hoping that Yao would slip away, though really he should have known that this would come to no avail; eventually the jack leaned back into the chair and shifted as if to make himself quite comfortable, a slight expectant smile curving his mouth. Arthur pressed the point of his quill fiercely into the parchment, knowing full well what he was anticipating.

"Fine," he hissed after nearly half an hour had passed and his hands were sore and smudged with ink."What do you need me to do?"

Yao smiled faintly and leaned forwards, again balancing his chin on the tops of his hands.

"We're going to host a dinner and dance, of course," he said, and the smug note in his voice did not go unnoticed. "It's nothing more than common courtesy, really." He chuckled softly. "After all, we cannot merely accept the new king at the door, as if the Old Kingdom of Spades were nothing more than a roadside tavern!"

Arthur sniffed. "I don't see why not."

Yao somewhat charitably ignored this, and continued as serenely as ever. "You will be expected to dress nicely, to smile, to eat and to dance. King Jones will make his entrance towards the end of the festivities, which will, incidentally, begin in little more than a few hours. Moreover, rumor has it," added Yao, quirking an eyebrow. "That the king has quite the talent for dancing."

"Rumor rarely has it right," retorted Arthur coldly, standing from the desk. "I suppose you want that I go begin to prepare myself now?"

Yao nodded. "That would be preferable."

Arthur turned to leave, but stopped halfway to the door, glancing warily over his shoulder. "And I suppose…" He sighed. "I suppose that you already have a suit designed especially for the occasion?"

Another nod, accompanied by a moderately sickening smile. "You will find it on your bed."

Arthur was dismally well-acquainted with these sorts of affairs. After all, the dinner and dance had been ceremony for as long anyone could remember, to the extent that every moment was nothing more than ritual, perfectly rehearsed over the centuries, and perfectly forced as a result. To Arthur the whole thing was nothing more than a blur of appetizers and thin, sickly sweet Madeira wine, of calculated conversation and glittering pink champagne flutes, of the plodding beat of the waltzes, the low groan of the orchestra, of gloved hands and swathes of tulle and chiffon and satin, of bothersome guests who kept asking when he would settle down with a pretty girl, and of too many drinks but still not close to enough to alleviate the throbbing headache that always blossomed from his temple.

Perhaps nobody enjoyed the dinners and dances, but tradition was tradition, and they were nothing without history. In fact, the Old Kingdom could make no decision without dancing and dining. They danced and they dined before a new legislation could be passed, they danced and dined when a child was born into the royal family, they danced and dined when someone died from the royal family, and they danced and dined uncomfortably with the other Suits before a union could be made or war could be declared, only to march out to the fields come the dawn and gun down their waltzing partner of the night before.

And it goes without saying that they danced and dined before a marriage could be consummated.

Despite the garish satin tuxedo he found draped over his mattress, Arthur could do little but be immensely grateful that Yao was partial to him and had shown some mercy in successfully negotiating against the idea of a ceremony for the time being, arguing that the current political climate would not permit such a luxury and that it would be best that the two rulers of the newborn Republic of Spades focus on official duties and learn how to coordinate their combined power to its greatest effect. In fact, aside from the pomp and circumstance that would bear King Jones to the palace that evening, the union would consist of nothing more than signing a few documents. There would be no grand festivities, no more dinners and dances, no more miserable waltzes, or at least not for some time. There were not even any rings, or at least to Arthur's knowledge. He knew he had been spared a great deal, but still he could not stop his stomach from twisting as he stepped into the slippery satin suit trousers, and his fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the cravat at his middle.

Yao slipped into his room just in time to witness him swearing quite violently at his bowtie. He smiled and took his hands, lowering them so that he could finish the job himself. Arthur bit down on his lower lip and looked away, angry and embarrassed because Yao was smiling, because Yao knew that Arthur was nervous despite himself.

"He is going to be very impressed," said Yao after a moment, fixing the bowtie perfectly at Arthur's throat. "And intimidated, I might add. Who wouldn't be?"

Arthur chuckled harshly and batted Yao's hands away, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket with a crack.

"Don't patronize me," he said, turning to the mirror. "I'm no child." He bit down on his lower lip again, dropping his hands slowly to his sides, gazing at his reflection. His eyes looked back at him too wide."I may be young, but I'm…I'm no child."

Yao sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed at the far side of the room.

"Is that what you're worried about?"

Arthur tensed. "It's only that…people, they underestimate me, and I…"

He trailed off and glanced back at Yao, who opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again, bringing two fingers up to press against his temple.

"You may find that you are…" he said finally, seeming to deliberate his words quite carefully. "Well, let's say that neither should you underestimate the temperament of the good king, your majesty."

Arthur felt his temper flare.

"Why should I return what has never been offered to me?" He remained staring into the mirror, and saw the flush of anger bloom across his own cheeks, the pained way he grit his own teeth. "Who knows what this King Jones deserves, from me, from my kingdom, from anyone, for that matter! It's downright pathetic," he spat. "It's pathetic how much we need him."

Yao was silent, neutral. How infuriating.

"I don't want to do this," said Arthur after a long moment. "I don't…I don't want to do this."

The mirror reflected Yao as he stood from the bed and came to press his hand into Arthur's shoulder.

"So you've expressed," he said mildly, but not without sympathy.

Arthur finally tore his gaze away from the mirror and looked up into the solemn gaze of his governor. He felt the anger drain from him.

"So this is what it means," he said quietly, leaning into the hand that Yao pressed to his shoulder, "to be an adult."

Yao shook his head and Arthur glanced up at him questioningly.

"No, your majesty," he murmured, and pressed his lips very briefly to his forehead. "This is what it means to be a Queen of Spades."

* * *

><p>King Alfred, explained a tittering waitress when Arthur inquired, would be the dessert that evening.<p>

The moment she had fluttered away, Arthur set down his fork quite delicately and turned to raise his eyebrows at Yao, who was very deliberately occupied in dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Francis, having surreptitiously choked on a piece of bread, was taking a careful sip of water, as if extending his pinky from the side of his glass would hide the flush of amusement on his cheeks.

"So I suppose you're going to make the invitations, then?" hissed Arthur, nudging Yao's ankle sharply beneath the table. The jack slowly set down his napkin and turned to Arthur, smiling serenely.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, your majesty."

Arthur glared. "For when we consummate the goddamn union, of course. Or will you be charging entrance?" He shook his head, tapping his chin and pretending to be lost in thought. "We must ask a little extra for orchestra seats, I suppose. Will there be concessions available or will the guests have to bring their own refreshments?"

The edges of Yao's mouth turned down slightly at the edges; he cleared his throat and delicately picked up his knife and fork from beside his plate.

"How ironic, your majesty," he murmured as he lifted a slice of meat to his lips, "that you complain for being perceived as puerile."

Arthur curled his fists into his napkin beneath the tablecloth. "Forgive me," he hissed. "It only seems that the entire kingdom is poised to push us into bed."

Yao raised an eyebrow, and Francis chuckled softly, having at that point recovered from his altercation with the bread.

"You must forgive your subjects for their excitement, dear boy," he crooned, twisting the stem of his glass between his fingers so that the wine swirled red and heavy against the sides. "It has been centuries since the Kingdom of Spades, old or new, has seen such an occurrence, has it not?"

Arthur mumbled that he hardly envied his predecessors and Yao outright frowned.

"One of the duchesses of the outer provinces is dancing by," he muttered, gesturing discreetly to the floor. "Do smile."

Arthur merely bit down sharply on a slice of bread and began to chew violently, raising an eyebrow at the jack as if to challenge him to complain. Yao gazed at him for a long moment, as serenely as ever, before he sighed and turned back to his meal.

The Grand Hall of Old Spades, set like a jewel of light and noise, of ancient grandeur, against the gardens of Buckingham Palace, was wide and long and cast in a cloak of inconstant shadows by the kerosene lamps and elaborate chandeliers that hung from the walls and glittered from the high arching ceiling. The royal family and their guests – that night, the Diamonds and nobody more – traditionally sat at the mahogany table which lined the far wall, its wood chipped and battered from centuries of meals and debates and clumsy hands, almost bent from the weight of history. The diners overlooked the splendid marble ballroom floor and the couples who revolved lazily around each other like multicolored chiffon and taffeta ornaments.

Yao, Arthur knew, made careful catalogue of every face that whirled past, who they were with, what they were wearing, why they were invited, what they could contribute to the kingdom, and how they could be persuaded to do so. For his part, Arthur was simply trying not to glare at his entire kingdom, but the increasingly imminent threat of the arrival of his new king was making even this a challenge. He set down his knife and fork with a pang of dread, knowing that when the waiters swept away the plates and utensils and snatched up the final goblet, when the ballroom cleared and Yao gave the signal, Arthur would have no choice but to promenade onto the elaborate stage at the back of the room, to draw his regal blue satin cloak about himself, and to resign himself – his life, his freedom, his mind added in the melodrama of his reluctance – to awaiting the grand appearance of Alfred Jones.

Yao was doubtlessly aware of the way Arthur clutched at the edge of the table and paled as the waiters began to file from the kitchen, but he was characteristically aloof and it was only when Francis noticed his increasing distress that he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"You know, she did not want to marry me, either," murmured Francis, and Arthur tasted red wine against his cheek. He glanced up sharply and realized that the woman in question must be Queen Lili, who was seated beside Yao and tittering contentedly away with Vash, who nodded every so often with a very tender look in his eyes.

"In fact," continued Francis, "had it not been for her brother's presence I doubt that she would have consented at all. And I myself will not say that at first I was not reluctant…" His eyes drifted to his queen; she wore a delicate white dress, trimmed with orange ribbon and lace at the cuffs and neckline, and her hair just brushed the indentations of her porcelain collarbone. "She seemed so fragile, so…innocent, that I feared to sully her. But in the end…" He smiled. "She has been a joy to me. She is actually very strong, very self-aware, quite the stubborn, lovely young woman…indeed, she reminds me of someone I once loved very much." His voice took on a wistful note, then he shook his head as if to disperse a troublesome thought. "But nevertheless, your majesty, do not look so desperately frightened." He winked. "Dear King Jones is doubtless as afraid of you as you are of him. After all…" A chuckle. "Who wouldn't be?"

Arthur opened his mouth, closed it, bit down on his lower lip, and sighed.

"But even so -"

And then the final servant disappeared into the kitchen in a dying flicker of black and white, and Yao stood, his hand falling to rest on Arthur's shoulder.

"Flawless timing," he murmured as the ballroom floor began to clear, the couples clustering off to both sides and immediately exploding into chatter like riled songbirds, the skirts of the ladies flaring brilliantly with the force of their gossip. "Do be ready, your majesty."

When Arthur batted away his hand and stood with a sneer, Yao smiled for the first time that evening.

There was a podium erected at the far side of the ballroom; Arthur would ascend the several tiers of pure marble, taking care not to stress the luxuriant carpet of midnight-colored velvet that stretched down the middle like a tongue rolling from the gaping mouth that the curtains draped from the bases of the torches seemed to form, and there await the arrival of his king. Yao would stand at his right, Francis and Lili on the second tier, with Vash keeping careful guard of the porcelain queen at one corner, and the guests would cluster about the base. It almost seemed an arrangement of flowers, Arthur thought dully as he tried not to trudge up the steps; a careful arrangement of flowers in a fragile crystal vase.

He took his place and turned to face the empty ballroom floor. Yao shifted behind him, tucking his hands into the opposite sleeves of his brocade tunic. Francis glanced back behind his shoulder with the shadow of a smirk. Lili gazed contentedly out into the crowd. Vash gazed at Lili. The noise of talk was soft, low; the collective, anxious murmur of a great group of curious people. Arthur lifted his chin into the air. Everything was in its place.

Then, a terrible hush fell over the ballroom, and as Arthur felt the silence come to rest on his shoulders, he likewise felt his composure slip. He abruptly wanted to gnash his teeth, to shout not to be so quiet, to cry to speak up, to gossip and titter as much as you please, to not feel bound by politeness, by royalty, by the heavy satin cloak that was suddenly suffocating around his neck, not to envy him, not to pity him, not to wish him good luck in his marriage, and he almost opened his mouth but felt Yao's fingers press into his shoulder, at the soft spot in the curve of his collarbone, and then he heard it, they all did.

The groan of the double doors bore the new king of the unborn Republic of Spades into his kingdom.

A last, gasping moment of silence, and then Yao began to clap, and the entire ballroom seemed to have quite a fright before applause roared into the air, overwhelmingly loud and sudden, albeit somewhat confused.

Surely, Arthur thought dizzily, surely the boy was an assistant, surely he had come to announce the king, nothing more. Surely, although his cloak was rich, collared with a brilliant bolt of ermine, and although he strode across the dance floor with the determined and unconsciously demanding footsteps of someone who had known luxury, acquiescence, all his life, surely he was nothing more than an announcer, surely, nothing more - !

And then the boy set his foot on the first marble tier and sunk to one knee. When he bowed his head, his glasses slipped down his nose and he had to push at them with the index finger of his right hand. Arthur, swollen with surprise as if holding his breath, saw something glint and realized that the boy bore the slender silver band, set with an engraved golden spade charm flanked by two fat sapphires, which had not been seen on the continent for centuries.

King Alfred Jones raised his head and slowly stood. He was smiling. The shadows of the ballroom toyed with his face, the frames of his glasses, but even so, the corners of his eyes and mouth were smooth, the angles of his chin and cheekbones soft, the flush in his cheeks high and pure. His eyes sparkled unabashedly and he held out his hand, with that enormous, dreadful ring catching the shadows even as he bowed halfway, his other arm tucked against his stomach in the traditional fashion.

"King Alfred Jones," he said, and his voice, his voice, why, he sounded like he could still sing falsetto with that voice. "Humbly at your service."

Arthur was silent for a long moment. He could almost feel the crowd press forwards around the podium and wondered what they were waiting for. He swallowed and lifted his chin.

"I do say, Yao," he said quietly. "This boy can't be any older than I."

He turned to see Yao's eyes widen for a moment – in surprise, fury, raw panic - before calm suffused his face again.

"King Jones is eighteen," he answered serenely, and quirked a brow once in warning.

Arthur turned to look again at his new king, who seemed to have faltered some in his confidence. He glanced briefly back at Yao, then at the confused but still expectant gaggle of subjects, and laughed once. The sound echoed from the high ceiling.

"You think," he gasped. "You think that I…I, the Queen of Spades…that I am going to…with this _child…_" And he outright pointed at Alfred; the crowd gasped and seemed to reverberate with disbelief. "The only reason, the only reason I would ever…I thought this union was going to make us stronger…but me, me and…and this…I never…I never imagined…" Yao was staring at him in abject fury but for once he didn't care. "This…this is…I never thought…well." And he laughed again. "Well. I am the Queen of Spades, and I won't be made to look the fool anymore."

And with that, he brushed past the new king and marched from the ballroom.

* * *

><p><strong>AN –<strong> Ah guys, I am so grateful for all your wonderful feedback on the first chapter; it truly encourages me to keep writing as much as I can, and to improve. I'll probably have the next update posted in a similar amount of time. :3

Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur was scarcely halfway across the lawn when a hand closed down on his shoulder; he turned, expecting Yao, his stomach already turning with remorse and shame – not for storming out on the boy king, but for disappointing his governor, who already tolerated so much with little compensation for his trouble – and was stunned to find himself face to face with King Francis.

"I ought to slap you," he panted, glaring. "Because we both know that Yao will never do so, no matter how many frightening faces he makes." He shook Arthur once, twice. "I ought to turn you over my knee like a child instead of a queen."

Arthur swallowed and tried to lift his nose into the air. "I should not have to stand to be made to look the fool."

Francis laughed shrilly. "And neither should your _kingdom, _Arthur. And yet here you are."

Struggling to retain some semblance of dignity, Arthur shook Francis' hand from his shoulder with a sneer, taking a step back over the grass. "You have no right to speak to me so," he hissed, and before he could catch himself: "Your kingdom needs mine just as desperately as we seem to need that blithering infant King Jones."

Francis was silent. He lifted his hand and struck Arthur across his right cheek. The blow stung, but Arthur hardly felt the pain. He lifted his fingertips to his face gingerly, forcing his mouth into an expressionless line. He heard the labored come and go of Francis' breathing, watched him curl his hands into fists at his sides.

"Mind your place," he said through gritted teeth. "Or your power will overwhelm you and the unthinkable will come to pass."

Arthur laughed hollowly. "I could say the same to you, your majesty." He dropped his hand from his face. "And pray tell, what is this unthinkable, exactly?"

Francis surveyed him steadily. His eyes glinted in the dark, catching the distant lights of the Grand Hall of Old Spades, still winking against the opaque velvet lawn like scattered diamonds.

"Do not speak as if you were not already quite aware," he said eventually, smoothly, his breathing calmed. "The Hearts are hardly appreciative of the regime as of late. Whether they are justified in this sentiment or not is a matter of opinion, but regardless the fate of the Suits has fallen into your hands, should they be joined with those of King Jones or not." He shook his head slightly. "Do you not understand what hangs in the balance, that your behavior as of late has terrified us all more than we should ever prefer to admit? You and no other are the master of our livelihoods, and yet you throw tantrums and risk shattering the balance of peace all because of a few _years _of age, because you think we are all mocking you. For what reason would we do such a thing? You are not incorrect; we need you. And yet you bring shame upon yourself by fault of vanity and insecurity. Pride is a sin, your highness, and it will be your downfall should you not take action against it."

He fell quiet, and Arthur did not reply. A breeze rippled across the lawn, tossing their hair and flitting through the folds of Arthur's heavy satin cloak. The lights of the ballroom still danced, wavering across the dark ocean of grass. Francis did not break away from his gaze. Arthur finally swallowed and ducked his head.

"It is not my fault," he said quietly. "It cannot be my fault. I did not ask for this."

Francis sighed. "Nobody does, your majesty. It would do you well to realize this."

And with that, he turned and began to wade back across the lawn. A bar of light streaked across his body every once in a while and illuminated the brilliant orange silk of his dinner suit. Arthur stared after him for a long moment before he started off again in the opposite direction. He could not turn back. He could not apologize. It would be an insult to his dignity beyond measure. He unhappily wondered what he could say to Yao. How could he face his disappointment?

But perhaps still more important was what he could say to the infant king. Francis had not been wrong.

He slipped back into the empty palace unnoticed and had nearly reached the base of the staircase that led to his room when he heard footfalls behind him and stopped with his hand paused on the banister, knowing without having to turn that Yao must have finally subdued the chaos of the ballroom and caught up with his runaway queen. The footsteps slowed and eventually trickled away a few paces behind Arthur.

"I ought to slap you," said Yao. Arthur sighed, ducking his head.

"You wouldn't be the first," he replied quietly.

"Francis," said Yao after a moment. There was a trace of a smile in his voice. Arthur nodded.

"I have always approved of him." Yao sat down at the base of the staircase with a sigh, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees. "Despite what seems to be the opinion of the entire rest of the world regarding his morals."

Arthur sat two steps behind Yao and drew his knees to his chest. They were quiet for a time. Arthur guessed that much of his punishment would include allowing him silence so that he might agonize over his guilt. The realization was an uneasy comfort.

"I should hope you realize that your display has done nothing to better your situation," said Yao finally. Arthur could have snapped in two with exasperation and relief at hearing his voice. "You will still marry King Jones. You will still rule the Republic of Spades with him. Until death do you part, I might add." That same trace of a smile in his voice again. "The ceremony will merely be infinitely more uncomfortable. Well done."

Arthur glanced up at him warily. "Are you not going to scold me properly?"

Yao shrugged. "You've already been slapped, as you quite rightly deserved. And I highly suspect that Francis has also given you a thorough lecture; he is so terribly superfluous with words, after all. Besides, at this point, your highness, your puerility has reached such a pinnacle that I doubt you would listen to reason, let alone understand what you have truly done. Frankly, I have much to do as a result of you foolishness and would prefer to save myself the effort."

Arthur felt as if he had been struck again with twice the force. Yao turned and flashed him one indulgent smile before he rose to his feet and swept away, leaving Arthur with nothing but a glimpse of his blue cloak as he disappeared up the staircase. The taste of guilt was bitter in his mouth. He swallowed, torn between laughing and burying his face in his hands.

Certainly the Jack of Spades was nothing if not a master strategist.

* * *

><p>Arthur had allowed a few minutes to pass seated on the stairwell, hoping that Yao would have finished sweeping through his room, pulling at the drapes and fluffing the pillows, by the time he rose and began to plod slowly up the stairs, clinging to the rail. He was suddenly exhausted, weighed down by shame, the remnants of his anger, and most of all the growing understanding of the consequences which were to come.<p>

He was gratified to find his room deserted and locked the heavy oak door from within. He shed his cloak, sighing in relief as it crumpled around his ankles, as if he were standing in a pool of cool water instead of satin and the golden ornaments were nothing more than sunlight reflecting off the surface.

He undid the first four buttons of his shirt and climbed from his boots. The stone floor was cool against the soles of his feet and he stepped gingerly onto the rug. He considered the bed. He was exhausted but felt little desire to sleep. The morning would bring the reproachful eyes of his people, the disappointed half-smiles of Francis and Yao, the new creases of worry and fear at their foreheads. But worst of all, there would be Alfred. He could no longer be avoided. Best to postpone everything as long as possible, Arthur thought, without realizing his selfishness.

He was young and lonely, after all, and wielded so much power.

He went to the closet and gathered his slippers and a light wool coat. He secured the pin at his throat and blew out the candles in the lamps before he slipped onto the balcony, welcoming the breeze on his face. The air was cool and smelled of night and the city, of exhaust and rain and dust. Arthur closed his eyes and forgot the persistent glow of the Great Hall in the distance, the winking of the lanterns against the lawn, dreaming for an instant that he was suspended alone in the soft dark, free of his own worries and blunders.

He reluctantly opened his eyes and swung one leg over the balcony, gripping the marble with both hands as he flailed momentarily through thin air. Then, with a practiced step, he levered himself over the edge and, digging his toes into chinks in the side of the palace, descended silently into the gardens. He felt the mossy earth come pressing up beneath his shoes, and lifted the hood of the cloak to hide the telltale glint of his hair and eyes. He did not want to be disturbed.

The gardens were vast and overgrown. They spilled from their confines with the alien twisted species which the holocaust of war had produced. Strange trees reached up towards the sky with knurled fingers; curious and fantastic flowers bobbed and trembled in the wind; the ground seemed to whisper underfoot. Stories that had long been forgotten drifted upwards from the moss with every footstep. That night, the air was moist and heavy with the smell of growing things, with the reek of thick waxy white petals of flowers that only bloomed beneath the starlight. Arthur inhaled deeply. The moonlight winked wet and milky through the trees, but he could have followed the path by touch alone.

Children whispered rumors about the keeper of the garden of the Kingdom of Old Spades; they spun wild stories of madness and bloodlust and ghostly prowls through the trees. To them the gardens were a fearful place; years ago, Arthur had been just as frightened. He would not go unless Yao would hold his hand and guide him down the path in broad daylight. Imagine his surprise upon encountering the notorious gardener himself and finding that he was not bent and knurled like the trees he pruned, but rather that his eyes were as bright and brilliant as the unfurling blossoms of the flowers and his voice as soft and lush with wisdom as the moss underfoot.

"He has lived for many years," murmured Yao when they had walked further down the path and Arthur tugged at his sleeve, asking him in the sort of hushed voice that can only belong to awed children. "Nobody quite knows how many."

Arthur had returned in a few days, alone for the first time, too fascinated to be afraid. Besides, the gardener had seemed so kind, his eyes so warm, and his hands so wide and apt for protecting the tiny fingers of little children. Arthur stumbled upon the old man not but a few footsteps down the path. He was struck by the most curious suspicion that perhaps he had somehow known, and come out to meet him.

Arthur asked politely, but he would not say his name. The corners of his eyes crinkled and he ruffled at his hair and promised that it did not matter. Arthur persisted. The gardener sighed and replied that he could be called everything and nothing, for the world continued to turn and he stood fast to watch. He needed no name. Perplexed, Arthur complained.

"If you would like," chuckled the gardener when Arthur had realized the futility of his argument and ducked his chin down dejectedly. "You may call me Rome."

Arthur knew of no such place, but he quickly took a great fondness to the gardener. Rome was infinitely kind and possessed a vast knowledge of wonderful ancient stories. He spoke of fantastic journeys and strong warriors and brilliant and terrible emperors using an alien language that sung and danced with a sweetness not unlike that which flowed from the lips of the Diamonds when they spoke the native tongue of their King. Arthur began to see him more and more often, but kept their relationship a careful secret from Yao. Rome was a connection to the world beyond the Old Kingdom, where the trees grew twisted and deep and where legends flitted glimmering between the branches, and even at his young age Arthur somehow understood that he would do well to treasure such a thing for as long as he could.

He grew, but Rome did not age. Instead he pruned the trees, gathered armfuls of flowers, and scattered handfuls of glittering seeds onto the moss. At some point, Arthur accepted that there would never appear a new crease at the corners of his eyes (which already had the texture of a brown paper bag), that his gaze would never dim, that his hands would never stumble or slow in their work. The world indeed to turn and Rome stood fast to watch. Arthur was only glad that he was able to watch him in exchange, and listen to his stories. He wondered how many times the world had spun on its axis since Rome was a child, since he could slip his fingers into the wide hand of someone older and wiser. Arthur eventually came to understand that there existed no such number.

It was Rome whom he sought that night, slipping down the path like a shadow draped in soft blue wool, though he had not laid eyes on the gardener for years. He had wandered through the grounds in search of his company many times. He had been met with solitude just as frequently. At first he was bitterly disappointed, but he soon found that he enjoyed the quiet, and was no longer as enchanted by the old stories. He had not felt compelled to search for Rome in months, but that night he could taste his heart in his throat, pounding with an inexplicable desperation to see him.

He reached the small stone bench that Rome had once built for him beneath an overhanging oak. He remembered fondly that his legs used to dangle from the edge so that his heels scarcely brushed the moss underfoot. When he sat, tucking his cloak beneath him to ward off the cool stone, he nearly hunched over. He sighed and tilted his face upwards, watching the starlight filter through the canopy overhead. If Rome was to come, he would. Arthur could only wait.

Some time passed. The breeze toyed with the trees. Eventually, Arthur heard footsteps. Joy swelled in his throat. He stood eagerly, tipping back his hood with a smile. Then there came a low swear from a few feet away, just behind the cover of the undergrowth. The voice was unfamiliar. Arthur was paused in pulling back his hood when Alfred Jones stumbled from the path into the shade of the oak.

They stood staring at one another for a long moment. The wind chattered; the hood fell from Arthur's limp fingers in a dreamlike motion, crumpling at the nape of his neck. It was Alfred who moved first: he stood upright and opened his mouth, only to exhale and close it again. The moonlight glinted from the ring that rested on his finger. Arthur felt a surge of disgust rise in his throat. Words escaped him.

"If I had known…" attempted Alfred, feebly, gazing with no small measure of panic at the little white stone bench and the sheltering branches of the oak tree and the wild expression that Arthur knew had begun to consume his face. "Look, I'm…"

Arthur hissed, whipping his head wildly from side to side for a moment.

"No, hush," he said, "don't say anything; I don't want to hear it."

Alfred seemed to fall numb. Arthur immediately regretted his words. This only angered him further.

"Why are you here," he demanded, taking a step forwards. "Nobody knows about this place."

Alfred wavered. "I wanted to get away," he replied, tilting backwards on his heels. "Everyone is in a tizzy; I didn't want to deal with them anymore. I slipped out and just started wandering. I ended up here." He bit down on his lower lip. "Sorry."

"Stop saying that," said Arthur. "I didn't ask for your apology."

Alfred blinked. A slow change seemed to come over him. "Well, it's just common courtesy," he said eventually. "Please rest assured that it doesn't come from the heart."

The words shattered like a crystal champagne flute. The shards were tossed up towards the canopy by the breeze. They caught the beads of starlight. Arthur could only stare, dumbfounded. He saw that the moonlight rent changes on Alfred's face, turned his cheeks sallow, but pooled in his eyes a thousand times brighter than before. His glasses glittered; one could almost taste the acrid flavor of defiance in the curve of his mouth. Arthur curled his upper lip.

"Glad to oblige," he spat. "Have you nowhere else to be?"

Alfred stood his ground. His timidity had faded in a handful of words. The angles of his face seemed stronger. Sure it was a mere trick of the moonlight.

"I might ask you the same question," he said, unwavering. Arthur could have screamed in confusion. "What gives you the right to speak to me like this?" He didn't give Arthur the chance to answer, taking a step forwards. "Actually, come to think of it, what gives you the right to act like this at all?"

Arthur stepped forwards to match him, digging one hand into the fabric of his own shirt in a vain attempt to curb his fury.

"Funny," he hissed. "I might ask you the exact same question. I merely came out here looking for a little solitude..." He bit his tongue against the lie and kicked at the base of the little stone bench for emphasis. "And of course I had just gotten comfortable when…when _you, _you blundering _child, _came stumbling in all innocence and apologies, mumbling some sort of cutesy thing about the kingdom being in a…in a…" He paused. "Sod, what did you call it?"

"A tizzy," answered Alfred through gritted teeth.

"Dreadful colloquialism," muttered Arthur. "Evidently the boy king can't even boast a mastery of his own language."

At this Alfred seemed to raise his hackles in earnest, anger kindling in his eyes, staining the reflection of the moonlight.

"Boy king?" he cried. "Don't speak as if you were some sort of upstanding example of maturity yourself. I didn't ask for this!"

Arthur turned on him outright. "And you think I _did?" _he cried, voice cracking. "You think I asked for you to be brought here, for the entire world to tell me that I'm not good enough, to replace me with a shiny new model that's got a nice white smile and an extra..." He gestured helplessly at the fat ring on Alfred's finger. "An extra _bauble _on his finger, with his head full of silly dreams of freedom and individuality and self-expression, and his hands overflowing with those bizarre contraptions that your people seem to be inventing every other moment and selling for piles of gold and prestige and praise and such, and with his heart just positively _brimming _with generosity and kindness enough to help this poor little hapless queen from the pit he's dug himself? You think I wanted that? How could I?"

He took a shuddering breath. His head swam with the rush of his heartbeat.

"But at least," he continued, gasping, "at least at first I thought you would be older and wiser, that there would be an evident reason for bringing you here besides uniting the kingdoms, some quality you had that I honestly didn't, something that would help us. I thought you might be an improvement; I was even humble enough to think you might…that you might _teach _me something. I thought there was a_ reason_!" He laughed shrilly. "Instead of a reason, I got a boy of eighteen stumbling onto my doorstep. How can you be my superior? How?" His fingers shook with rage. "And yet everyone seems to think so."

And with that, he fell silent, shaking. Alfred stared. He had curled the hand which bore the ring into a fist at his side and the starlight caught the gold band.

"I don't think…" he began eventually, and his tone was infuriatingly calm, almost sympathetic. Arthur's stomach twisted. He couldn't bear pity. He wouldn't. "I don't think everyone thinks so."

Arthur actually stamped his foot. "For the love of…don't look at me like that!" He took a step forwards and grabbed Alfred's jaw. "Don't look at me like that!"

Alfred jerked his face from Arthur's grip and shoved him away, swearing under his breath.

"Like _what?_"

He looked almost worried. Arthur felt sick.

"I don't want your pity!" he shouted. "I don't want it, I don't need it. I didn't ask for this! I keep telling everyone, I didn't ask for this! I keep telling everyone, but they won't listen to me! I didn't ask for this, I didn't ask for this! Nobody understands! Am I not the ruler of this kingdom? Why is my voice the only one to go unheard?" He brought his foot down heavily on the ground again, felt the moss give beneath his weight. "I am the Queen of the Old Kingdom of Spades, if you haven't heard!" The words tore from his throat, raw and wild. "You are a disgrace to me, Alfred Jones, your _highness_." He colored that with a sneer. "And I am the Queen of the Old Kingdom of Spades, and will _not_ be made to look the fool!"

Quiet fell, almost ghostly. The wind toyed with the branches. Arthur faintly registered the ragged come and go of his own breathing. The moon had strengthened and spilled into a silver lake of light between them. Alfred was wiping his glasses on the edge of his cloak. When he lifted his chin, his expression was unthinkably angry. Arthur felt the breath rush from his lungs. Alfred took a step forwards, gripped him by the shoulders, and shook him once, twice.

"I beg your pardon, your majesty," he said, "but _I_ am not the one who's making you look the fool."

Silence settled on their shoulders, but only for an instant. It was with the dreamlike slowness of a sleepwalker that Arthur lifted his left hand and brought it down across Alfred's right cheek. His palm stung. He could not hear the slap above the thudding of his own heart.

Some number of seconds passed.

Alfred's hands had long gone limp on his shoulders. Arthur easily shook himself away. A moment of hesitation, and he was fleeing down the path, blindly stumbling deeper into the gardens until he was tripping over the thick winding roots of the trees and splashing through fathomless puddles of moonlight, his breath tearing from his throat.

The world was turning.

How Arthur wished he could stand by and watch!

* * *

><p>The morning found Arthur curled at the roots of an enormous oak, somewhere towards the center of the gardens. Exhausted but unable to bring himself to return to the palace, to Yao and his serenely disapproving stare, to the red mark on Alfred's right cheek, he had collapsed at the base of the trunk. He had fallen asleep easily with his cloak drawn around himself and his head pillowed on his hands.<p>

A pathetic portrait for a queen.

The sunlight woke him. He was sore. The roots had wound knots into the muscles of his back and shoulders. He heard the laughter of the breeze through the leaves, the trill of a bird somewhere in the distance. He smiled. In the gardens of the Old Kingdom of Spades, one could forget that they were in the middle of the ruins of a city.

Rome was seated beside him on the grass.

Arthur sat up slowly. Perhaps he was dreaming. The morning was young and the sunlight was clean, delicate yellow like a lock of hair. Rome turned and looked at him. His old pair of pruning shears rested at his side. He was neither smiling nor frowning. Arthur bit down on his lower lip. A moment later he was clinging to Rome, burying his face into the crook of his shoulder. He smelled of earth and of a thousand irretrievable eras and of impossible wisdom.

"How you have grown," said Rome eventually. His voice was gravelly and warm and ancient like late afternoon sunshine. "It is almost hard to believe that it is really you." He ruffled his hair almost as a father might have done. Arthur laughed weakly.

"Why," he mumbled, "why did you choose now, of all those times?"

Rome stood and pulled Arthur with him. He held him at arm's length and straightened his cloak across his shoulders, plucking an oak leaf from his hair. He licked his thumb and rubbed at a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Arthur didn't try to twist away like he had done when he was a child. He knew well by then that Rome did everything with a purpose.

"I cannot believe that you truly have to ask such a question," said Rome at long last. He took a step back and observred Arthur expressionlessly. His gaze did not make provoke discomfort as Yao's often did. It did not leave Arthur shifting unhappily as if the ground were hot beneath the soles of his shoes. And yet Rome was even more cryptic than his governor, except when he was telling stories.

Arthur sighed.

"I suppose that you know when you are needed," he mumbled, not bothering to hide his shame; he knew that Rome would be able to taste it on the air regardless. "This is a mess."

Rome nodded serenely. Arthur felt his mouth snap into a crooked smile.

"But is it really all my fault?" he asked, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead. Rome shook his head.

"The blame never belongs to just one person," he said. "Never."

Arthur sighed. He should have known better than to expect a straightforward answer.

"Right," he mumbled, adjusting his cloak over his shoulders. He was the Queen of the Old Kingdom – or perhaps the Republic, he should say – of Spades. He could no longer avoid his duties. "Thank you, I suppose. For watching over me, that is."

Rome looked up and smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing. In the strengthening sunlight his gaze was the color and possessed the same ancient crystalline facets of amber. He stepped forwards and pressed his lips to Arthur's forehead.

"Remember, dear Queen of Spades," he murmured as he stepped back again, briefly smoothing Arthur's hair from his face. His callused palm felt sandpapery against his skin. "We cannot alter history. We may only watch as it unfolds."

And with that, he took up his pruning shears and brushed past Arthur to disappear into the gardens.

* * *

><p>Arthur slipped into the palace through a hidden side door and flickered through the hallways like a shadow. He had drawn his hood and cloak closely around himself so as not to be recognized. The morning was still young and the corridors were peaceful; most of the royalty was probably still tucked beneath their blue silk sheets. Arthur willed his feet to carry him soundlessly, not wishing that his footsteps should disturb those whom he would have to face with his reputation in shreds.<p>

He wondered fleetingly where Alfred had slept, but pushed the thought from his mind. He finally slipped into his chambers and locked himself inside. He leaned heavily against the door to take a moment to breathe. He realized that he was very hungry. A headache was blooming at his temple. There were still knots in his shoulders and neck. He could feel the dirt clinging to his was doubtless a sight to behold.

He stood from the door and undid the latch of his cloak. It crumpled to the floor with a whisper. He kicked off his slippers and sighed at the feeling of the cool stone against the raw soles of his feet. He made his way over to the bed with the intention of sitting down for just a minute and feeling fine satin beneath his fingertips. He drew back the blue tulle canopy.

King Jones shifted with a soft groan, kicking at the sheets. His head was wedged between several pillows. His lips were parted slightly. One hand was splayed across his chest. He shifted again and Arthur could see a bruise across his right cheek.

He was too horrified to take any satisfaction from that.

Before he could scream and tip the mattress, the doorframe shook and the scratching sound of a key filled the room. Yao exploded inside a moment later. His chest was heaving. One hand was knotted into his own hair. Arthur forgot his anger; he had not known that the Jack of Spades could look so terrified. He let the canopy fall back into place. Not a moment later, Alfred, woken by the noise, pushed it aside again, blinking sleepily. Arthur spared him one look of contempt before he turned to Yao.

"What is it?" he breathed.

Yao gazed at him for a long moment, stunned at the sight. Arthur remembered the dirt, the exhaustion that would be evident on his face. He tilted his chin into the air. He must at least act as if he did not care. Yao cleared his throat. His eyes were frantic. Arthur thrilled with fear.

"Yao." He took a step forwards. "Yao, please."

A moment passed in agony. When Yao spoke, his voice was unsteady.

"They're here," he said quietly. "The Hearts have come."

* * *

><p><strong>AN – <strong>So sorry for the delay, everyone. As always, thank you so much for reading (and for all your encouraging feedback, which honestly amazes me every time), and I hope you enjoyed!


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